


Had We But World Enough, And Time

by sakesushimaki



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-11
Updated: 2012-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-30 23:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakesushimaki/pseuds/sakesushimaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brian procrastinates. Untypical, but known to happen. (The fic title is borrowed from Andrew Marvell.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Had We But World Enough, And Time

Brian has never been a procrastinator. If he ever had, he wouldn’t be where he is today. 

He does his work efficiently and well, he knees into it whenever he can afford it, if an opportunity presents itself, he grabs it with both hands and asks for more. He is used to being hands-on without waver, he’s used to hard work. He trusts in diving in the deep end, in taking risks — the benefits usually more than outweigh the peril. 

There is one thing, however, that has always challenged this philosophy. One thing that makes him feel like a liar in moments of contemplation, one thing that makes him reverse. That one thing, the only thing Brian never fully took a chance with, is Justin. The only thing he’s ever procrastinated on is Justin. Justin and all he is, means, is the one thing he could never tackle fully. With Justin it always felt like putting too much on the line.

But this time, it will be different. This time, he will go for it. He will go for everything.

He’s missed his chance several times before and he’s become achingly aware of that. First, there was Hobbs with all his anger and sporting equipment. Later there was Ethan with his artistic passion and floor picnics. And then there were homophobes with delusions and bombs. 

And Brian, passive and inadequate as Justin makes him, has always missed his chance.

But he knows better now. Three years of almost constant physical separation taught him that some things need to be done, said. And he is not going to live another day with these could-have, would-have, should-have scenarios stealing hours from his day.

So when he goes to pick up Justin at the airport the night before Thanksgiving, he is dead set on telling him. Telling him what he wants and maybe, possibly, what Justin wants too but is waiting for Brian to say.

But then, as soon as they’ve moved from an entirely inappropriate greeting at the curb to the car and Brian peels out of the no-parking zone, Justin starts prattling on about work. It’s all about that ubiquitous asshat named Dennis, whose stunts Brian’s been hearing about for the past months already.

Justin obviously needs to vent, so Brian listens and waits.

By the time they get to the loft, Justin’s complaints have died down and the good mood has returned.

Brian thinks that now would be a good time. He feels his sweaty palms confirming that fact.

But then Justin is suddenly talking about plane smell and shower and really, there is nothing Brian can do but follow the trail of discarded clothes Justin leaves.

Later, when Justin is lying on the sofa that he already managed to move out of place somehow, riffling through old magazines, Brian thinks that this is the moment. This is where he tells him. 

He is about to go over there, lay it all out, when he catches sight of the dishes in the sink. He decides that he really can’t do this with dirty mugs in his kitchen.

When he finally does make it over to the sofa, he snatches the first two magazines he sees and starts a pile. He starts collecting the magazines – there are a lot – from all around the loft, all the while thinking up an organizing system.

“Brian?”

“Yeah.”

“Stop procrastinating and tell me what you want to tell me.”

“I don’t procrastinate.” Brian puts the neatly organized stack of magazines aside.

“It’s true, you don’t, _usually_. Which is why it’s been so weird watching you these past hours. Amusing, yes, but weird.”

Brian wants to be pissed for that, but he’s too busy worrying about having been caught.

“Brian, come on. Just say it. You’re starting to worry me.” Justin puts his magazine aside. “Brian?”

Brian fights the urge to grab that same magazine and put it on top of his stack.

“Shit, Brian, what is it?” Justin scoots over, reaches out.

But before Justin’s hand comes to touch his, Brian blurts, “I want you to move back.” 

There it is. In all its selfishness. Brian feels his insides go through all the clichéd motions at once. He tries to relax. He tries to breathe.

He finally looks at Justin, studies his face, and something in the shocked expression gives him strength. He’s used to catching people off guard.

When he speaks this time, his voice sounds like his own again. “You’ve been selling your art for a while now and you’ve made some contacts, you have some shows lined up. The only reason why you still have to work with that asshat is because you’re paying a fortune renting your studio/apartment. You should focus on painting and not worry about scraping together enough money for that dump.” 

He tells himself to keep going. There’s much at risk and Brian is leaping. It could be a free fall.

“So, while you focus on painting, you might as well be here. Or well, at the house, where there’s a fucking beautiful studio waiting for you. With me. If you want.”

Justin’s smile makes the net appear.

 

+

 

A month later, he’s hauled more than fifty boxes, he’s programmed plumbers and electricians into his speed dial, and he’s bought a fucking SUV. 

Every morning he gets up half an hour earlier than he used to because of the drive, he fights with the crazy-complicated coffee machine he did not agree to, and he has to wake up Justin because he loves the snooze button a bit too much and ends up being pissed when he sleeps too late.

Every day he’s ridiculously fucking glad for all of it.


End file.
